


Rolling Boil

by B_eden



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Arguing, Comfort, Drug Use, Emotional Turmoil, Fighting, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Intimidation, Kidnapping, M/M, Screaming, Stockholm Syndrome, Trust, Yelling, aggressive body language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_eden/pseuds/B_eden
Summary: What if, instead of being discovered by the police that fateful night that Bart and Christian had their argument, Christian had noticed the shadows of RDPD passing by a window, and he stopped Bart from opening the door to them just in time? Also, poor Christian needs a bath so freakin’ bad, so don’t be surprised if I keep sticking him in one in many of these fics. There’s arguing in this one, so be careful if you’re triggered by aggressive body language and intimidation. Read the warnings.I guess I just really wonder how things went down inside that house (in canon) because the two were fighting loud enough for the neighbors to call the police, yet Christian didn’t kill Bart, and Bart wasn’t all bruised up when he answered the door, so Christian clearly didn’t harm him, and why not???





	Rolling Boil

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna know more about me as a writer and a person, (please follow I get so lonely and insecure) you can follow my:
> 
> Blog: https://caspercrowblog.wordpress.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrowCasper  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writercaspercrow

Bart had confronted Christian about whether or not the con artist was betraying him and selling his art. It was true. The criminal had manipulated his feelings. He had broken his trust. Worse, he was brushing it off as if Bart was being too sensitive; as if he had no remorse at all for what he’d done.

 

 

Bart hugged his arms around his chest in a room across the abandoned house from the priest. He wasn’t going to take this! If Christian wanted to be his friend, if he wanted his help, if he wanted Bart to keep playing like he was his hostage, he was going to have to explain himself far better than this! Bart was going to get an apology!

 

 

He was still hugging himself, and his shoulders were hunched high as he hesitated in the doorway of the room where he’d last bickered with Christian. Bart was shaking. He was terrified. He had to question if confronting the priest again was a good idea. Christian was, after all, a serial killer and violent criminal, and Bart was alone with him in his hideout. Then there was the whole issue that Bart was pretty sure he really was Christian’s hostage and not just playing the part. Just how much was he lying to himself about this whole friendship thing?

 

 

Christian’s voice growled from the dim room. “What. Now. Bart.”

 

 

Bart straightened his back and looked down his nose at him to summon his courage as he stepped into the room. “Christian.”

 

 

The priest’s back was to him. His shoulders were tense. Bart should have taken more time to read his body language, but if someone is really your friend, you shouldn’t have to assess the level of danger they propose to you at any given time, right?

 

 

“You know what you did was wrong, Christian! You really hurt me!”

 

 

“Agh! This again?” Christian scoffed as his head tilted back in exasperation.

 

 

“Why don’t you care? All you do is take, take, take, Christian! And I’m tired of it! I do everything you ask of me, and most of the time I don’t even question you! I just-”

 

 

Christian rounded on him and Bart’s back hit the wall hard as he instinctively moved to put distance between himself and the rage-filled eyes. Christian threw his hands up. “YOU’RE MY FUCKING HOSTAGE! OF COURSE YOU DON’T GET TO QUESTION-”

 

 

Christian hesitated when it became clear all the consciousness had faded from Bart’s eyes as the artist stood plastered against the wall with his hands splayed out at his sides.

 

 

“Bart? Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Christian sank to the floor with Bart as the artist fainted from the shock of Christian yelling so loud and so sudden. He grumbled as he hastily arranged him to avoid developing any cricks, and then he made his way over to his case of beer to chug another. The criminal was trying desperately to figure out when he’d started catching Bart when he fainted rather than just turning away in relief that he was going to be quiet for a time.

 

 

Christian didn’t try to wake the artist so that he could have another few minutes of peace to snort some more coke and curse the lukewarm temperature of his drink. Things weren’t going his way, and he was wound even tighter than usual. This whole mess with Bart and his shitty art was hitting at just the wrong time. Not that there was going to be a right time for the artist to make Christian try and admit the guilt swimming in the pit of his stomach along with the rest of the self-loathing soup in there. He couldn’t face up to this. He just couldn’t handle Bart goddamn looking at him with such deep, sincere pain. Pain that Christian had caused him.

 

 

When Bart finally gasped and sat up, Christian stayed put leaning against the opposite wall and let the artist fill in his own conclusions on where he was and what he’d been doing. He sighed as Bart’s hands smoothed across his face and down his chest and stomach as he checked for damage.

 

 

“I didn’t fucking hurt you.” Christian tipped the drink to his lips before he mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. “Thought about it, though.”

 

 

Bart stiffened in fear before it turned into anger. “You’re not getting out of this! You can’t just use me like this, Christian!” He continued for only a few minutes before Christian climbed to his feet and began pacing. “And don’t you do that yelling thing to try and take the easy way out making me faint!” He was standing now too. “I’ll just pick this right back up when I wake up again!”

 

 

“If you wake up again!”

 

 

“Why won’t you look at me?!” His arms pulled into his chest and he ducked his head when Christian whirled around to face him. He didn’t realize he was backing away from him again until his side bumped the wall.

 

 

“You just want me to stare at you all day now?!” Christian’s jaw was locked, and he was gnashing his teeth. He kept pulling at his hair in frustration before waving his hands around as he cursed the artist. Christian’s beer bottle shattered against the wall opposite Bart, but the artist covered his head as if it had flown at him instead.

 

 

Their voices were getting progressively louder until they reached the pitch that would have made Bart faint if it had come at him all at once. Now, however, Bart was trying his best to stay on equal ground with the serial killer. Bart was managing to throw in quite a few clever jabs that were hitting the mark to further enrage Christian. The con man was quick to keep veering their argument off course to confuse him, and in between reining the subject back on track, Bart found himself stooping to the priest’s level and throwing insults.

 

 

Bart had barely finished flinching away from Christian before he was shouting at his retreating back as if he hadn’t been praying for him to turn his eyes away the second before. “You have no idea what it is like to put up with you, Christian! You’re a complete savage! And...and... just _look_ at you! And you smell horrible! Can you even remember the last time you bathed? You have no respect for anyone around you!”

 

 

Christian spun on heel and was pacing back in his direction again. Instead of circling, however, he kept coming towards him. He snarled and reached for him with crooked fingers that were clearly itching to choke him. Bart fell back against the wall as Christian unleashed a long, loud scream right in his face. The priest’s eyes were wild and swirled with a tempest of dangerous emotions. The artist felt lightheaded, but he couldn’t hear Christian’s scream well enough to faint from it over his own terrified cries as he melted into a complete panic attack instead.

 

 

Bart sank down as Christian’s stiff hands hovered just to each side of his face as he mimed throttling him. When Bart’s pitiful screams continued long after his own roar had exhausted, Christian gulped in air and tried to gather himself.

 

 

The criminal’s frown melded from aggression to confusion as he continued to stand poised over the other man as if he was going to cause him serious damage. Christian knew he was a complete bastard. He didn’t mind that Bart was cowering, sobbing, and begging. He wasn’t shocked at finding the artist in this position. Christian’s fingers flexed beside Bart’s face as they hovered just over his skin, and he glared harsh and mercilessly at Bart’s terrified eyes.

 

 

Christian was confused, however, because he knew Bart’s reaction wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t about to be harmed. The fact that Christian knew this with every fiber of his being disturbed him. He wasn’t going to hurt Bart. At least, not physically. The realization blindsided him, and his shoulders slowly lowered as his hands fell to rest on Bart’s arms.

 

 

The artist jolted as his panic failed to let him process that the grip, though far too brutal to be a comforting gesture, wasn’t causing him pain. Christian’s hands slid up around Bart’s neck as the serial killer continued to struggle with his temper, but he didn’t apply any pressure to the touch.

 

 

 Bart’s legs gave out as he felt Christian’s fingers twitch against his throat. Christian knelt to follow him down and kept his hands in place on his throat as he tried to decide if he even could squeeze if the situation had actually called for him to.

 

 

“C-Christian! D-don’t hurt me!” Bart’s voice was hoarse from screaming as he continued to try and shrink small enough to disappear from the situation in which he was now greatly regretting that he’d pushed his luck. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t! Please! Don’t! I’m sorry! Please! Christian!”

 

 

Christian’s fists dropped to clench in his shirt, and he growled through gritted teeth. “Don’t ask me not to hurt you. Ask yourself why you’re not already hurt.”

 

 

Christian was asking himself the same question but pointing out to the artist that he hadn’t been physically harmed might work for his current cause of confounding his hostage into emotional security without him having to put in the effort of actually being kind to him. A crafty abuser could easily threaten punishment in a way that left the victim an addictive rush of relief when pain didn’t come to them. A vulnerable enough victim would then likely twist the situation around in their mind to believe that they had actually received something positive from the monster rather than realizing they’d simply been spared something more horrible.

 

 

Christian told himself he was weaving this manipulation, yet he still wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with the newfound acknowledgement that he might not actually be able to harm his hostage. His fingers loosened on Bart’s shirt. He wasn’t sure when one of his palms had flattened on the artist’s chest to feel his rapid heartbeat thrumming so violently against his rib cage, but Bart’s body began to sink down more relieved than frightened as he continued to press there.

 

 

“Just-” Christian found it harder to breath than when he’d been yelling. “Just stop nagging me, already.” He stood and turned away from him to stare blankly into the night out the small break in the tattered old blinds. He discretely sniffed at himself before throwing another scowl over his shoulder that Bart wouldn’t possibly be able to comprehend in his currently traumatized state. Christian didn’t think he smelled nearly as bad as Bart had insisted. Almost; but not quite.

 

 

Bart sat on the floor until his limbs stopped trembling enough to stand. He didn’t even consider furthering the conversation at that point. He just wanted to put a little distance between them to think on all that had happened. He adjusted his hat and his glasses, and then braced himself against the hallway until his breathing steadied and his tears slowed.

 

 

The artist sniffled as he carefully made his way to the front door. He reached for the doorknob, and then there was a hand clamped air-tight over his mouth as he was dragged back away from the exit. His voice was muffled as he cried weakly for Christian not to kill him. He immediately felt warm air in his ear as Christian hummed in an unexpectedly soothing vibration.

 

 

“Not gonna hurt you. Shhh. Not going to hurt you, Bart. Trust me.” Christian held him firmly as they both jumped at the confident pounding on the door that followed the gentle rap Bart had missed only seconds before.

 

 

“RDPD. ANYONE IN THERE?”

 

 

“Chief! I think I heard something a second ago.”

 

 

Christian was already walking backwards with his hostage. “Shhh. You’re okay. It’s okay. Can I trust you? You going to be quiet?” Bart nodded, and Christian carefully let go of his mouth. He still had a grip around his chest like he expected him to dart toward the door. “You going to do everything I say? Good. That’s good.”

 

 

Christian’s arm slowly released him, and he moved instead to grab his wrist. “Stay right with me, and don’t make any noise. Do exactly what I say,” he reminded. “This way, Bart.” He kept saying his name so gently and telling him that he was alright, and Bart’s addled mind could do nothing but follow his lead.

 

 

Christian took him out a side window rather than the back door. He quietly pulled the window shut before he pushed Bart behind a giant air conditioning unit just as agent Smith strolled by whistling on his way to the back door.

 

 

The artist’s heart hammered in apprehension, and he would have been frozen in that spot if anything other than Christian had tried to get him to move. “Okay, now.” The priest pointed his gun to the ground as he held his hand out to him. He fanned his fingers when Bart hesitated. “Bart. Trust me to keep you safe. This way.”

 

They had barely reached a row of pine trees and crawled beneath the low, thick branches, before Christian threw his body over top of the artist to pin him to the ground on his stomach. “Wait.” He pressed Bart’s face down as he angled his own the same way so that their skin wouldn’t stand out in the shadows. His lips were right against Bart’s ear. “Waaait. Wait. Keep Breathing, Bart. It’s alright. Waaait. Get ready. Almost. Okay, come.”

 

 

Christian hooked his arm under Bart’s waist to pull him to his feet more quickly on the other side of the trees. He then led him behind a fence row. He started to climb over a shed, but then seemed to think better of it after a quick glance back to the artist. He didn’t seem the type to be able to do much climbing. He continued along the fence row.

 

 

“We’ll come out by the bar first and then I’ll slip us around to the other house I’ve been staking out. It’s more comfortable, but I’ve been wanting to make sure they’re not coming back before the school break. If they didn’t by now, then they aren’t going to for a while. Mail’s piling up and-”

 

 

Christian stuffed the artist back around the fence when he saw that someone in the alleyway was putting trash into the garbage bin behind the bar. There was a streetlight overhead, and Christian began to bat away all the pine needles from their clothing until he heard the door swing closed.

 

 

“Christian?”

 

 

“You’re doing good, Bart. We’re almost there.” The priest pulled him toward the sidewalk. “Let’s just go in the front door, get a drink, and wait for those cops to drive off.”

 

 

Bart pointed to the road when they stepped around the front of the building. “But, Christian? Is that their patrol car?”

 

 

Bart yelped when Christian spun him around to shove his back against the front of the bar. He barely missed a couple groping and grinding next to the large window as he positioned the artist to press his body flush against his. He rested one hand on the bricks over Bart’s head and hooked his other arm around his waist intimately.

 

 

“Arms over my shoulders. Like we’re making out. Now, Bart!” Christian tilted his head and pressed his lips against Bart’s. The artist whimpered as Christian’s lips moved against his while he spoke. “Do you see them? Tell me when they’re gone.” Too much time passed. “Bart? Are they gone?”

 

 

The artist didn’t respond, so Christian dared a sideways glance to discover the road was clear. When he looked back to Bart’s trembling body to question him, he frowned in confusion to find that he was staring at his lips with clear longing; or maybe he was just in shock? Christian dipped his head as if he might kiss him but stopped just short when Bart’s back straightened and his eyes widened as he was jolted back into reality.

 

 

“Christian?”

 

 

“Hmm?” Christian had become distracted by a man on a bus bench who was trying his best to make sure everyone heard him complaining about how disgusting he found homosexuals to be. The priest rolled his eyes and sighed in irritation.

 

 

“D-did we...did we make it?”

 

 

“We’re not slowly bleeding out from a bullet wound, if that’s what you mean. Come on.” Christian clasped his hand, scooping up a discarded soda from a trash can as he led him along.

 

 

“Oh, repulsive! Christian! Don’t drink that-” Bart blinked rapidly when Christian dumped it onto the man on the bench who began to curse and swing at him in response. “Oh, my!” Bart stumbled behind Christian as the priest drew his gun and screamed the man into a blubbering mess beneath the bench as he swore he was going to kill him. “No! Please! Let’s just go! We don’t need any more trouble tonight!” Bart exhaled gratefully when Christian turned to leave even though the serial killer grabbed his arm aggressively as they went.

 

 

That’s when Bart started to realize that Christian’s hands hadn’t left him since he’d caught him at the front door. “Christian? W-why are you still holding onto me?”

 

 

Christian’s voice was darker now that he wasn’t coaxing him out of screaming for the police. “I don’t know. Were you trying to walk right out the front door?”

 

 

“Well. Yes, but-”

 

 

“And did I say you could fucking leave?”

 

 

“N-no, but you’ve never stopped me before from-”

 

 

“So you were trying to walk out on me.”

 

 

“W-what? Christian. You know where I live. You always simply come and get me when you-”

 

 

“I didn’t say you could leave!” Christian took a breath to steady himself when Bart flinched and stopped trying to defend himself like Christian couldn’t be reasoned with when he wanted to be angry. He was quiet all the way until they reached a rather fancy looking home not far away from the old hideout.

 

 

Bart tensed as Christian closed the back sliding door. “Christian? This place is furnished. What if someone’s home?”

 

 

“They’re not, but I’ll take a look around. I already disabled the alarms yesterday and nothing happened. Cheap piece of shit they had.”

 

 

“But this is clearly a family home. What if they come home and-” Bart gasped when Christian grabbed for him when he started to move too far away. He backed him against the side of the couch as he forced eye-contact.

 

 

“Then that means they’ll be doing something I don’t like, and I’ll fucking murder them without remorse and throw them in the basement so I don’t have to smell them.”

 

 

“Please don’t kill me, Christian.”

 

 

Christian ignored him. “Now don’t turn on any lights. We don’t want to draw any attention from outside.” He moved around the cabinets as if he was familiar with the place. He released Bart long enough to light a large cinnamon scented candle, and then he reached for his hand again.

 

 

He led Bart into a large bathroom that looked in disarray as if it was in the process of being remodeled. “You fucking kidding me?” He cursed as he inspected the shower to find the pipes not connected. He sighed and pulled the artist along with him to the second bathroom. He groaned to find the tiles off the floor and the shower stall completely missing altogether in there. “Fucking Christ.”

 

 

The priest went back to the master bath and closed Bart in with him before lighting more readily available candles so that he could see to fumble with a ridiculously large hot tub. “This bitch sure loves her cinnamon.” He stared Bart down as he waited for the running water to get the desired temperature under his fingertips as if Bart might use his distraction to bolt.

 

 

“Y-you’re going to bathe?” Bart was hugging his arms to his chest again.

 

 

“One of my fucking considerate friends really fucking kindly confided in me that I’m a filthy piece of fucking trash. So yeah. I guess so.”

 

 

“I’m sorry. That was cruel of me.” Bart sat an over-sized towel and a washcloth on the edge of the tub.

 

 

“Get another one of those.” Christian whipped a hand towel free and sat it beneath his gun near a back corner of the tub.

 

 

Bart did as he said without questioning it. Then he put the toilette seat lid down and took a seat with his back to the tub.

 

 

“Get in.”

 

 

Bart choked. “Pardon?”

 

 

“You first. I’m not going to be at a disadvantage to have to chase you down naked. You’re getting in here with me. Now, Bart!”

 

 

Bart stood on reflex when Christian’s voice started to raise. He blushed deeply as his trembling hands pushed away his clothes in a desperate attempt to give the criminal what he wanted and prevent furthering his upset. Christian didn’t exactly stare him down while he undressed, but he didn’t politely turn away, either. Bart was quick to climb into the tub on the side opposite the gun for Christian’s comfort. He was more than a little flustered that the water wasn’t nearly deep enough to cover his body from view yet.

 

 

Christian huffed. “Really? All that bullshit lip you gave me earlier, but with this you’re just going to throw your clothes off and climb right in there the first time I snap at you?”

 

 

Bart fumbled along the ledge for some bubble bath and dumped it liberally into the water in the hopes of preventing as much humiliation as possible. He was not going to admit he was having trouble keeping his eyes off Christian’s naked body as he moved around shamelessly in the soft glow of the candlelight. Christian stepped into the tub and kicked around in the water for far too long as he tried to decide if he was satisfied with the water temperature enough to sit down.

 

 

“C-Christian!” Bart crossed his arms and turned away from his eye-level crotch.  He whined helplessly when his admonishment only caused the man to turn towards him. “CHRISTIAN!” He turned his back to him and rested his arms on the ledge of the tub like he was suddenly a cat that was only going to stomach the bare minimum necessary of this whole bath business.

 

 

Bart exhaled in relief when Christian’s shadow sank lower and the sounds of the water indicated he had taken a seat across from him. The artist turned back around and locked his jaw at what he saw. Of course, Christian was going to unapologetically man-spread across the whole side of the tub like he was some kind of conquering emperor. Bart’s eyes dropped to the center of attention before he could stop himself. He should have added more bubbles.

 

 

If Christian noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “No explanation, then, for why you’re so easy to get along with now?” He sighed. Bart was turning away from him again. “What’d I do now?”

 

 

“You will win any argument we have.” Bart quipped. “You know you will. If you want me in here, then I will be in here one way or another. I would rather pick my battles and not end up naked and vulnerable in the water while I am going through any of the terror you’re capable of causing me.”

 

 

“So you don’t want me to fucking shoot the wall or scream at you so you can find out if I’d pull you back above the water when you pass out or if I’d just sit here and enjoy the show as you slowly filled your own lungs with water?”

 

 

Christian didn’t seem to notice Bart’s shoulders tensing at the horrific thought. He let him stew in the concept as he dug around for soap and began the long task of cleaning himself. Bart had almost relaxed enough to turn back to him when Christian spoke again.

 

 

“How would that work, anyway? You don’t know what’s happening when you’re out, right? It could be a nice way to go. No pain. No fear. Just go to sleep forever. Or maybe it would be horrific. Maybe you’d dream you were drowning?”

 

 

“S-stop fantasizing about killing me!” Bart relaxed slightly when he turned towards him and realized the water was now plenty deep enough to hide them both. Christian’s hand was just returning from shutting off the water, and it took Bart too long to realize that he was still hearing water because it had begun to rain heavily just outside a large frosted window above them.

 

 

 Bart’s voice was hesitant then as he saw that Christian was watching him far more intensely than usual. “You...you would pull me up, wouldn’t you? If I...if I fainted somewhere unsafe?” He looked down pitifully when Christian didn’t answer him. The criminal only returned to scrubbing his face without putting much of a dent in all the dirt there.

 

 

The artist pursed his lips as his hurt melded back into bitterness. He tossed a quick glance of disgust in Christian’s direction. “I’m going to be filthier when I get out of here with you than I was before I got into the bath in the first place.” He immediately regretted it when Christian let out a low growl of agitation and sat the washcloth to the side.

 

 

“You know what?” Christian grit his teeth, but his volume remained low and somehow more menacing when he didn’t raise his voice.

 

 

Bart could sense the tension about to snap just beneath the surface of the rolling boil of venom in his eyes. Bart braced his legs and discretely mapped out a path across the bathroom to ready himself to flee.

 

 

“I wouldn’t just let you sink like a fucking rock in here and peacefully inhale your life away.” Christian’s fists were clenching along the side of the tub as if it was everything he could do to stop himself from reaching for him. “I would much rather feel you kicking and struggling while I held you under myself and watched you realize every second was taking you closer to-HEY! GET FUCKING BACK HERE!”

 

 

Bart couldn’t think to be ashamed of how high-pitched his screams were as they echoed around the bathroom along with the sloshing sounds of Christian immediately catching him around the waist with all the skill of an experienced predator ready for his prey to try and escape him at every moment.

 

 

The artist was terrified that he was about to be shoved beneath the surface, and he instinctively began to climb up the only thing within his reach. He turned toward Christian and flung his arms over his shoulders to cling to him for dear life. Christian sank back down into the water as Bart’s limbs tangled around him, and his screams quickly faded into a steady chant of Christian’s name instead.

 

 

“Christian, I’m s-sorry!”

 

 

“You always fucking are.” Christian sighed as he locked his arms around Bart’s quaking body and pulled him close.

 

 

Christian didn’t comment on how they were both now fully erect as Bart remained plastered against him panting warm air right into his ear as he begged him. The priest seemed more annoyed with nature than concerned over any emotional implications that may be involved in the situation. He grunted and tried to shift their bodies around to avoid further agitating the inconvenient desires. It was as if he fully expected Bart to have this response to terror and confusion, and it didn’t occur to him to assess why he was personally aroused by it all.

 

 

Bart’s mind was far more chaotic, however, as he tried to understand what was happening. “Don’t kill me, Christian! Please don’t kill me!” He shuddered into silence when Christian shifted, and the artist’s attention was drawn to a jolt of pleasure as their naked bodies rubbed against one another.

 

 

Christian took the silence to mean he’d frightened him sexually with the movement instead of effectively avoiding drawing attention to their situation as he’d intended. “You’re alright.” He rolled his eyes as if it wasn’t his fault his hostage was out of his mind with fear.

 

 

Bart blinked rapidly as Christian unconsciously gave him a gentle squeeze. This was a romantic encounter! He didn’t have any experience with things of that nature, but he’d read about it and longed for it enough to know that this was teetering dangerously on the edge of such a thing! Bart was sure of it, now, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to desperately push the perceived threat on his life right into sexual territory to feel the reassurance that he wasn’t going to be harmed. Christian’s arms tightened around him to prevent him from trying to escape when Bart moved, but the artist only needed an inch of space to wriggle to press his lips against the serial killer’s.

 

 

Christian stiffened dramatically as his pupils dilated and his brows rose high on his forehead in shock. He hadn’t seen this coming. He really, truly, definitely did not see this turn of events. How the fuck he wasn’t ready for this, he now wasn’t sure, but Bart had been just so good at playing off his disgust with him.

 

 

Christian’s eyes were almost comically wide as his mind filed down through a check list of his surroundings. Candlelit room. Steady rain. Spacious hot tub overfilled with bubbles. Sweet smells. Naked hostage. Thrumming heartbeats. Hastened breaths. Answering arousal. Soft lips. Oh, god, soft lips...

 

 

Bart couldn’t possibly want him. Not really. He’s scared. That’s all. “Bart...” Christian’s voice was muffled against his mouth. Bart was struggling not to go cross-eyed as he warily tried to read Christian without pulling away. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to-” Christian tensed further when Bart only pressed his lips against him more insistently.

 

 

The priest swallowed heavily as they both noisily pulled air in through their noses. Christian’s brows knit in an almost pained expression as he struggled between selfishly accepting the touch he now knew he wanted or admitting to himself that Bart didn’t really want this. If he had any hidden shred of decency left in his black heart, he would try to find a gentle way to end the kiss and reassure him it wasn’t necessary to offer up his body for his life.

 

 

Bart pulled away to study him while his arms were still wrapped tightly around Christian’s shoulders. The criminal was at a loss for words, in fact, he looked completely lost all together as he searched Bart’s eyes with an overwhelming air of insecurity. The priest started to speak twice, but nothing came out as he just stared at him with uncertainty instead. His arms slowly loosened their hold on him in case he wanted to move away. For once, the artist felt like he had gained the upper hand.

 

 

Bart’s fear gave way to a much warmer emotion as his eyes scanned every inch of Christian’s face to read him. It reminded him of just how dirty the man was, and he hummed in mock irritation as he reached for the washcloth. “Good heavens, Christian. How do you even...” He sighed as he began to carefully scrub the criminal’s face for him.

 

 

Christian made a strangled, helpless noise as Bart’s tender actions deepened the intimacy between them, but he didn’t move to stop him. His bewildered eyes darted around the room before landing back on Bart as he considered for the first time this might be an hallucination.

 

 

Christian’s hands rested at his sides beneath the water because he was too nervous to touch Bart. There was something different about touching the artist when he wasn’t doing so to restrain him. He couldn’t quite understand why Bart was still straddling him now that he’d released him. He closed only one eye at a time to keep him in his sights when the artist cleaned around his sunken sockets.

 

 

“Oh.” Bart hissed. “That’s a bruise, not dirt. You have two black eyes, Christian. What have you been-nevermind. Though this one seems older. More healed up. Does this hurt?” Christian didn’t respond. “Just tell me if I hurt you.” Christian finally winced when Bart dragged the cloth around his drug-abused nose. “I’m sorry. I know...”

 

 

Was that pity? Pity, Christian could comprehend from the artist. His lips parted when Bart carefully detailed along his mouth. Bart lingered on cleaning his lips for far longer than necessary as he thought how beautiful the serial killer was as he stared up at him with a slack jaw and questioning eyes. He seemed almost child-like this way.

 

 

“Wet your hair. Did you see any shampoo? Here, we can just use the soap.” Bart looked to him expectantly as Christian’s shoulders tensed. The serial killer’s eyes shifted to the gun that was now within either of their reach. He was unsuccessful in hiding his apprehension over the thought of dunking his head when he looked back to Bart. “Christian. Do you really think I am going to shoot you? I definitely would not play mind games and clean you up first if I was going to kill you.”

 

 

Christian held eye contact as he slowly began to sink down the side of the tub. Bart only then seemed to remember he was sitting on the criminal as his body began to slide forward as Christian’s torso lowered and his knees rose. Christian’s eyes closed only briefly when Bart’s lower half finally settled against his cock. Bart inhaled sharply when the priest pulsed up once to further the contact before he put his focus back on sinking beneath him.

 

 

The artist caught himself on the side of the tub just as Christian’s chin neared the water. The priest shivered as it brought Bart’s hands closer to the gun. He continued to watch his eyes until the he was exhaling as his head dipped beneath the surface. He clawed his fingers violently through his hair and then rushed to resurface.

 

 

Christian didn’t open his eyes right away. Instead he drew in a deep breath and pulled the artist against him. He rested his face in his neck and gave into the instinct to clutch his hips to relieve a bit of the pressure now throbbing insistently between his legs. Bart’s breathing stuttered, and his fingers dug into Christian’s shoulders before he forced himself to focus on massaging soap into Christian’s hair. The criminal shuddered when he felt both the artist’s hands on him and confirmed that he didn’t have the gun. He looked up to him almost worshipful, then, and Bart’s mouth twitched into a comforting smile.

 

 

When Christian surfaced the second time, Bart bravely rolled his hips down against him, and Christian’s lids flew open. Then Bart’s lips were on his again, only this time Christian’s mouth was open to catch his breath. Bart’s tongue moved past his lips, and the priest’s arms flew out to cling to the side of the tub as he froze up again. One hand stiffly jerked away and hovered just over Bart’s jaw. He was afraid if he touched him the hallucination would end.

 

 

The steady drumming of the rain and the gentle ripples of the bath made an almost reverent soundtrack for quite some time. The only other noises were the continuous mewls from the artist as he tried his best to move against the priest without guidance and the random groans from the criminal that were quickly increasing in frequency as his disbelief slowly began to meld into lust.

 

 

“C-Christian?” Bart eventually moved to speak against his ear. “I’m n-not sure where to go with this. I...I don’t know what to do from here.”

 

 

Bart was doing plenty well enough instinctively rocking their hips together and driving Christian goddamn insane with the friction. The priest wasn’t sure why Bart thought he needed to be doing anything different. It was possibly that the artist was becoming insecure because Christian still wasn’t touching him or returning the kiss.

 

 

Christian turned into the warmth of his voice and captured his mouth with purpose and direction as he hooked an arm around his waist to pull him closer. Bart whimpered gratefully and melted down against him. Christian’s hungry growl vibrated across the artist’s chest and unearthed a fearful shudder that Bart had been so sure had been soothed away only a moment before.

 

 

Christian wasn’t under any illusion that he could last long at this point. It had been far too long since he’d gotten off, especially with another person, and Bart had been grinding on him to the point that he was now painfully hard. He could use a distraction. Christian pressed Bart’s hips back to slide off the end of his knees, but he sat up and kept their mouths connected to keep him from being insecure that he was pushing him away. The artist hummed in confusion as Christian opened his thighs and pulled Bart to rest between his legs. He didn’t have much time to question it as Christian wrapped his fingers around Bart’s cock and guided him to his entrance.

 

 

“C-Christian?” He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but losing his virginity as a top hadn’t seemed like it would be an option on the table. “Oh, god! Christian-” Any concerns he had were lost in the long whine that followed as Christian pulled his hips forward and took him into him as deep as he could go.

 

 

“W-wait for a s-second.” Christian pressed his hands against Bart’s lower back to keep him from moving as he adjusted to the intrusion.

 

 

Bart didn’t dare to move in the first place, or he was going to lose it immediately. Sex was so much better than he’d ever imagined. It was so tight, and so safe, and there were so many emotions swimming through his head that he couldn’t focus on any one thing to distract himself from his impending release.

 

 

“Christian...oh god...” Bart swallowed loudly. “I don’t know if I can h-h-hold it...”

 

 

“Thank fucking god.” Christian moaned as his hand flew down to stroke himself. “Look at me, Bart. Here, baby.” He directed breathlessly, and when Bart obeyed him, he cursed at the helpless abandon he saw in the artist’s features. “Fuck, sweetheart...right here...stay with me...”

 

 

 Bart was so deprived of affection in his life that, every time Christian referred to him by a sweet name, Christian could feel his cock pulse needily inside him. Christian couldn’t deny that it was making his heart melt with every famished whimper that escaped the artist’s throat as he watched Christian’s lips in the hopes that the priest would say more. “There you go, baby. Now come for me...”

 

 

“W-w-where do you-”

 

 

It was overwhelmingly fucking adorable that he needed Christian to clarify it for him. “Where you’re at, sweetheart.” Christian locked his arm around him to keep him buried deep in his body just in case it still wasn’t clear to him. “Come.”

 

 

Bart whimpered when Christian commanded him to finish while looking him right in the eyes with such unguarded want. He had yet to attempt to move, and Christian was desperate to wait for him before he let his own release come, so Christian rocked down against him.

 

 

Bart’s mouth fell open and he gasped as the simple movement pushed him over the edge. “Oh god, Christian! I’m c-coming...”

 

 

“Fuck, I know you are, baby.” Christian watched the awareness leave Bart’s eyes as his orgasm washed over him and his hips finally jerked into motion. It was beautiful, and Christian fell apart right along with him. They gasped for breath as the intensity of their climax thrummed through their blood long after they had spent everything they had to give.

 

 

Bart braced his hand on the tub when Christian’s body relaxed down all at once and the artist’s face almost dipped beneath the surface. Christian mumbled a lazy apology as it took far more effort than it should have to get his elbow back over the ledge to hold them up again. Bart sat back with his face aimed down like he was ashamed or afraid to search Christian’s mood now.

 

 

“Don’t do that.” Christian rumbled as he pulled him back to his chest. “Everything’s alright.”

 

 

Bart sighed in relief, and he stayed against him until the water began to get lukewarm. Bart floated to the opposite side of the tub as Christian moved is gun around and dragged the towels closer.

 

 

There was a sudden crash of thunder that violently vibrated the entire house and rattled the windows. Christian cursed as he almost knocked over a candle when he jumped at the sound. He glanced to Bart. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He scrambled toward the artist just before his glossy, wide eyes could sink beneath the surface. “Bart! Fuck!” He grunted as he hoisted his limp body around to secure him from harm. “Uh...what was...um...which ear did Van Gogh cut off?”

 

 

Bart gasped back into awareness, but he didn’t answer the question as he clawed desperately against Christian’s back. “Christian don’t kill me! I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!”

 

 

“It wasn’t me. Shhh. It was thunder. It was just thunder. I didn’t do anything to you.” 

 

 

“Don’t kill me...” Bart seemed to be calming quite a bit as he took in his surroundings, accepted Christian’s words as fact, and then began to relax into Christian’s hold as the criminal squeezed him.

 

 

Christian had saved him. Bart had fainted. Christian hadn’t let him die. The artist didn’t even feel any burning in his nose or throat as if he’d so much as gone under for a heartbeat. Bart was still randomly murmuring a weak plea for Christian not to kill him, however, as he tried to accept that he was safe.

 

 

“I know this may come as a shock to you, Bart.” Christian’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “But when I’m going to kill a man, I don’t let him fuck me in the ass first.” Bart gasped sweetly before he dropped his face to laugh gently against Christian’s shoulder. “And I definitely don’t call him pet names and look him in the eye while he busts a nut in me.”

 

 

The priest felt an unfamiliar humorous tug at his lips when Bart’s body twitched in offense at his crude description of what had just happened between them. The artist stammered as he tried to decide whether to be flattered or embarrassed.

 

 

“Christian! You’re making the entire romantic encounter sound so...debased!”

 

 

“Romantic?” Christian was skeptical that he could have been involved in anything so pure, but as he took in their setting again and tightened his hold on the man in his arms, it occurred to him that he might have actually achieved a suave situation without meaning to. “Yeeeeah. You know me. All about the...the romance and whatnot.”

 

 

Christian was becoming a little uncomfortably aware of the dropping water temperature. He moved to murmur in Bart’s ear. “Now why don’t we dry off and go see about that romantic bed in there?”

 

 

The artist’s body wriggled closer against him ever so slightly as he hummed with interest at Christian’s suggestive tone. He leaned into the warmth against his ear as Christian whispered some more encouragements to convince him out of the water. The thunder was increasing in frequency and Christian found that he desperately wanted to get the artist somewhere safer so he wouldn’t keep thinking Christian had killed him.

 

 

The priest was much more responsive this time when Bart sought out his lips. He thought to himself that, perhaps, it wouldn’t be so annoying after all to try the whole thing where he did something nice from time to time instead of using only terror to gain his hostage’s loyalty and compliance.

 

 

 


End file.
